Bad Company
by The North Wyn
Summary: Ward's bad company tonight, but Simmons needs a drink. A conversation between Simmons and Ward after the events of 1x15.


_A/N: Rated T for alcohol, general darkness, and mentions of non-con/rape, violence, guns. _

* * *

He's not nearly drunk enough.

Not nearly drunk enough to forget the cool metal of a gun barrel held up to May's face.

Not nearly drunk enough to forget the smell, the touch, the taste of Lorelei. The thought of her name tastes like bile and blood in his throat.

Not nearly drunk enough to forget the feeling of May's body beneath his fingers as he slams her into the plane walls.

Not nearly drunk enough to forget selling _everything_—body, heart, soul, and allegiance—to Lorelei.

Not nearly drunk enough to forget May sending him away.

Ward pours himself another glass.

"May I join you?" It's Simmons.

"I'm not very good company."

"Neither am I, but you shouldn't drink alone. And I want a drink."

He passes her a glass and the bottle.

"Pick your poison."

He watches in concern as she downs the glass in one gulp. She grimaces and then pours herself another. He reaches over and pulls the bottle of whiskey out of her reach. "You should pace yourself."

She grabs the bottle and pulls it back. "Everyone thinks that they know _best_. I'll get drunk if I want."

He frowns. This doesn't sound like her at all; there's a raw bitterness in her tone that's so incongruous he wonders if he's hearing things. "What's wrong?"

She takes another gulp of whiskey, sets her glass down, and stares at the wall. Simmons isn't good at hiding her feelings, though, and he can see the struggle written on her face. He waits patiently, though; heaven knows he knows what it's like to want to hold it all in.

She sighs and gives in. "Coulson is keeping me from doing my job."

Coulson's been doing that a lot lately, but he's not sure what she's specifically referring to. "How?"

"Do you know how many people the GH-325 could help? Or perhaps it's killing Skye. I don't know. Coulson is _refusing_ to let me turn over what I have to HQ, thus keeping me from accessing valuable references." Her voice cracks, "And I don't understand why."

"Yeah, Coulson's keeping it all close to the vest. He hasn't even told May." Her name brings a lump to his throat. He swallows it down with a gulp of whiskey.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

_Yes._ He shrugs. "I was trained to solve problems without the whole picture." He takes a sip of alcohol and then admits, "It's harder now."

She nods. "Being here—it's more..._difficult_ than I thought it would be."

He snorts wryly. Difficult's one word for it. "You're telling me."

"I wanted this. I wanted to be here." She clenches her hands in her lap and he's not sure if the determination in her voice is for her or him. "I just wish it wasn't so _hard_."

He pours them both another glass—it's the only comfort he's up to now—making sure to fill Simmons' less than half-full. She drinks from it, slower this time. She looks over at him and frowns.

"You're hurt and I've been talking about my problems. Let me see." She reaches her hand out towards his face.

He moves back out of her reach. "It's nothing. May probably needs it more."

"May?" she asks in confusion and then, with a glance at the traces of broken glass in the carpet, says, "Oh." flatly. "You had an even worse day than I thought."

_If only she knew..._ He tips his glass toward her and then takes a sip.

She gets up and walks around behind the bar; she gathers ice cubes, a rag, and and a small white box.

"You keep a first aid kit under the bar?"

She raises her eyebrows at him. "You need to ask?"

With hands that have become far too used to this work over the past several months, she cleans his wounds, coats them in an antibiotic cream, holds ice to his bruises. He suffers her ministrations in silence, although the touch of her fingers—so kind and tender, so forgiving—burns.

He does not deserve this.

"You don't have to be nice to me. I could have killed you. Probably would have if Sif hadn't neutralized Lorelei first." _If he hadn't run into May first. If she or Skye had been upstairs. If Lorelei had asked him to._

She jerks back from him. "Ward-"

_Good. _She should be scared of him.

"Don't you _dare_ say that; don't you dare _think_ that."

He shakes his head. "It's true."

"Ward," she sighs softly. She reaches up to touch his cheek and it is his turn to jerk back from her. She pulls her hands back and watches him, studying him intently, the way he's seen her studying problems in her lab.

He wonders what her hypothesis is.

She tentatively reaches for his hands. He lets her take them.

"_You_ protect me. _Always._ Grant, you jumped out of a _plane_ for me. _Without a parachute_. You would _never_ kill me."

But he would have sworn the same thing about May yesterday and he still held a gun to her head and pulled the trigger today.

"You're giving me too much credit."

"_I wouldn't let you_. I wouldn't let you kill me or anyone else on this team."

"You couldn't stop me, Simmons."

"Don't underestimate me." She's fierce again, the rage he noticed from before simmering beneath the surface.

In a twisted way, it gives him hope.

Hope that her rage—although not a match for his—will keep her safe from him.

Hope that he's not completely alone in his demons.

Misery loves company.

So does rage.

"Ok." His hands are still in hers so he squeezes them gently.

She sighs and her body relaxes. "Ok."

They sit in silence, her presence warm and comforting, the sharp edges of his melting into the peace of hers.

With a soft sigh, Simmons stands up. She kisses his forehead. "I'm going to bed."

"Night."

He watches for a minute to make sure she's sober enough to walk back to her room unaided; she's able to walk in a straight line, though, so he doesn't follow her.

"Ward?"

"Yes?"

"Don't stay too long."

He nods.

After she disappears around the corner, he reaches for the bottle once more, and pours himself a full glass.

He's not nearly drunk enough.

-finis-

_((This is my _fourth_ episode tag to 1x15. I guess that's what happens when you have a traumatic episode + three week hiatus. One more day, guys; we can do it! And if it's just as bad—or *shudders* worse—let's agree to meet back here. Same time, same place.))_


End file.
